


apparent motion can be a trick of light

by velificatio



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Cunnilingus, F/F, Genderswap, Tribadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 10:50:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3287540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velificatio/pseuds/velificatio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day 367 of their time on the run finds Arthur and Cobb in a hotel bathroom. Cobb’s nursing a bullet wound to her shoulder and Arthur’s feeling it’ll take more than the whiskey she’s got on hand to take the sting of this wound off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	apparent motion can be a trick of light

**Author's Note:**

> For a visual of my headcanon of Arthur and Cobb in this verse see this graphic: http://velificantes.tumblr.com/post/109739013655/open-your-mind-and-let-me-step-inside-wip-files
> 
> This verse wouldn't be happening without thehandofathief, who provided the inspiration for genderswapped Arthur/Dom.

Not so long ago it would have taken a lot for Mal’s presence in Arthur’s mind to be considered unwelcome. That was before she had started appearing as someone other than their architect during jobs, as someone other than the woman she had cared for deeply.

They were working an extraction in Valencia for Harvest Energy Corporations, a renewable energy company, whose CEO suspected one of its board members of leaking critical information to their top industry rivals for extra profit. As far as extractions went the plan had been fairly straightforward. Harvest Corps would hold a board meeting discussing the potential of a fictitious partnership with Iberdrola Renovables, Arthur would pose as the mark’s room service in Albiston’s pre-selected hotel, slipping a sedative in the glass of Domaine Leroy he frequently ordered on business ventures. In the dream, Dom would play a rival business contact, offering an exorbitant sum for details on Harvest’s newest alliances.

Up until the moment Mal’s stilettos came clicking into the café Arthur had built, the job had run smoothly. Once she’d appeared however, weaving an arm around Dom and pouting at her for working without her, Dom’s response had been too delayed to avoid rousing Albiston’s suspicions. It had all gone haywire after Mal left Dom’s side and managed to sneak up behind Arthur, stabbing her in the chest and stomach with a cutting knife.  

Arthur and Dom had managed to make it to the hotel’s parking garage before two security employees caught up with them.  But Dom had taken a bullet wound to the shoulder as Arthur sped their car out into traffic. She’d only stopped to tend to Dom once she’d driven a good twenty minutes away from the hotel. Arthur had worked as efficiently as she could in the time crunch. With the job a bust, lingering in Valencia was no longer an option.

Fortunately for them, Arthur’s resources don’t stop short of Spain. She calls in a favor with hotel mogul Alejandro Benat after driving for an hour slipped Dom and herself through the back entrance of one of his Madrid resorts.

It’s just after sunset and Arthur’s been careful. She knows they haven’t been followed. Benat has too many friends in politics for Harvest Corps to risk stoking his ire by carrying out a hit in one of his buildings. Nevertheless, Arthur books their flights to France for the following morning. They can’t afford to stay long.

“What did you have to do to get us set up so quickly?” Dom rasps as they stand in the elevator, a clear note of concern in her voice.

Straight-backed, hyper alert with a Beretta 92A1 tucked in the waistband of her slacks, Arthur shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it,” she says. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. We need to take care of you now.”

So far Dom’s been able to walk on her own since the shootout. She’s hunched forward though, tilting her upper body more towards the right while her right hand presses the bundle of her jacket over her left shoulder. Without question the jacket will have to be destroyed but its dark enough that Arthur can’t tell if Dom’s bled much through the makeshift tourniquet she’s fashioned her scarf into. Once they’re safely in their room Arthur gets Dom to the bathroom and helps her undress, gently maneuvering her down into a vintage modelled tub. She spares enough time to shed her own suit jacket and roll up her dress shirt’s sleeves before kneeling down to start her work.

“Looks like it’s just a graze,” Arthur says, as she swipes at Dom’s wound with a towel, relieved beyond measure. “You haven’t bled as much since I got it wrapped up, we won’t have to worry about finding a doctor.”

Dom nods, silent, grimacing as she clears away all the dirt from her shoulder. Arthur notes that while her breathing is pained she’s not ashen or disoriented. They were lucky enough to have had a mark whose aim was lacking. She puts on a pair of latex gloves and doesn’t bother warning Dom before she flips the cap off a bottle of peroxide and pours a generous amount over her wound. Arthur takes Dom’s cursing in stride, lets her kick out at the tub without any reprimand. This isn’t new territory for either of them. Eventually, Dom settles back into her earlier position.

“Don’t think you’re getting a hard drink after this. I don’t care how much it stings,” Arthur says, unapologetic as she puts pressure on Dom’s shoulder with another towel. “No alcohol until after I’ve checked you tomorrow morning.”

The blood flow trickles to a halt ten minutes later. Arthur wraps an adhesive bandage around Dom’s shoulder quietly. When she’s the wounded party, Dom usually reverts to small talk, both to break tension and distract to her from any pain.

Arthur prefers operating in silence. She’s micro managing her thoughts; part of herself firmly rooted in the moment at hand while the rest is internally figuring out strategies to handle variables in the near future. She’ll have to run through her mental checklist of all the reasons she can’t afford to lose Benat as a contact for now when he inevitably tries to forego her payment of cash by purposing sex for his services instead. Much as she’d enjoy decking him for a start.

Arthur is a person men in particular have a strong reaction to. From the way she keeps her hair pulled up in a bun to the tight tailoring of her women’s suits and the confidence she walks with. For every ounce of respect she earns being the best there is working as point, she gains resentful enemies by refusing to cull to men’s attempts to assert dominance over her.

But there’s a reason she goes by a name commonly associated with men. The same reason Dominique is just Cobb to everyone else but her. As with so many other professions, males dominate the dreamshare industry in clientele and workers. Arthur’s learned to pick her battles carefully. It’s a lesson Dom’s helped her come to terms with.

“You sure I have to hold out on the Springback Malt?” Dom grouses as Arthur’s finishing up.

She’s relieved for an opening. “I’ve only got one half empty bottle, Dom. There’s no way in hell I’m listening to you throw the rest of it up later. You can barely hold that scotch down when you aren’t injured.”

Arthur sits back, filing away the First Aid kit and putting her gloves in a zip lock. She’ll dispose of them on the way to the airport.

Dom’s already starting to withdraw again, away from Arthur and a certain conversation they ought to be having.

“We should— “ _talk about the projection of your wife stabbing me to death,_ Arthur thinks, but can’t find it in herself to be so coldly blunt even as pissed as she is.

Either way Dom doesn’t give her time to deliver a more tact opening. “It won’t happen again,” she says, quiet but leaving no room for argument or any other reply. “I’ll take care of it.”

The door could only be more clearly shut in Arthur’s face if it was actually visible. Her first reaction is anger borne from hurt. Part of her wants to tear at Dom, demand if she remembers that Arthur loved Mal too. That she’d known the cadence of her laughter by heart, knew how soft and gentle her hands were, the weight of her body as she embraced or wrapped her naked form around Arthur. Does Dom have any notion of how painful it is to now know the phantom version of those same hands clenched around her throat, her bright eyes sharp with a malice she’d never exhibited in life? Mal could be angry the same as any person, and she could be spiteful but never had she looked upon Arthur’s pain with indifference.

And it isn’t even Mal, it’s Dom’s subconscious dressed up as her. There are too many implications in that fact, all of them pricking at Arthur’s skin like needles. In the worst times, it makes her question just how welcome her constant presence is to Dom.

But she knows Dom well enough to stop short of that. All such direct attacking will do at this time is cause her to retreat into herself or Arthur’s half empty bottle of whisky, guilty and frustrated by her vulnerability. There will be a time when they can sit down and talk about what’s happening without the bullshit and misdirection, Arthur is sure of this. But that time isn’t tonight and probably not many nights to come. At the end of the day, Arthur can handle this and she can handle Mal so long as Dom puts forth some effort into doing the same.

She only softens her reply minimally. “Try to make sure those aren’t empty words you’re using to appease me with again. We can’t afford to keep running from failed jobs, Dom, or we’ll be lucky if anyone worthwhile even thinks about hiring us. Handle your shit.”

Unsurprisingly, all Arthur receives is a curt nod. Dom tries to stand up alone while avoiding Arthur’s scrutiny but her movements are too stiff and uncoordinated for Arthur to refrain from pitching forward to assist her. She hooks an arm around Dom’s waist, takes her weight and helps her move from the bathroom to settle on the foot of a king-size bed their bedroom suite hosts.

“You’re going to have to hold off calling Phillipa and James until we get to Paris,” Arthur says, wary.

Dom sighs, visibly stopping herself from falling back onto the bedcovers. She rubs the back of her neck and avoids eye contact with Arthur as she replies, “Wouldn’t have been able to regardless. Marie says their psychiatrist recommends they take more time focusing on adjusting to life with her, in case I never come back.”

Frustration and concern color Dom’s words. Arthur frowns; both at this new piece of information and her own inability to offer Dom realistic reassurances. Neither Marie nor Miles were particularly pleased when Mal, who’d previously only dated men, started seeing Dom. Even less so when the two married. Miles had softened considerably towards Dom after Phillipa’s birth but Marie continued to regard her with more distant formality than familial warmth.

She puts a comforting hand on Dom’s shoulder. “I’ve got contacts in California I can get in touch with. If she tries to take steps towards permanent guardianship, we’ll know.”

Arthur can’t promise she’ll make sure Marie never receives custody. The case would be open and shut for just about any judge, but there’s a chance she could get the proceedings delayed. It’s enough to wring a nod and a small smile from Dom.

Their bedroom’s phone rings, drawing Arthur from Dom’s side.

Room service has their suitcases waiting outside the door. In case of emergencies like this Arthur has her and Dom’s hotel rooms cleared of their belongings the day of the job. She stores them in a car close to their base of operation. When she’d stopped with Dom after driving from the hotel, it hadn’t just been to tend to her wound. They had traded vehicles as well, Arthur setting the previous one off with a timed detonator.

Arthur retrieves their suitcases hurriedly, still armed and sweeping the outside hall for possible threats before she steps fully from her room.

Once back inside she remarks, “The perks of VIP status,” setting Dom’s suitcase down beside her.

She’s silently grateful for her own level of forethought. Dom’s partial to men’s clothing, looser, more casual than anything Arthur could offer her. Entering through the back had ensured any attention they’d attract would have been minimal. Even so, some of the kitchen staff had whistled at her, made lewd remarks towards Dom or otherwise glanced at her too long in confusion, as if trying to sort through her androgynous appearance to settle on a gender. As usual, Arthur had been left bristling but outwardly projected a heady sense of unapproachability and intimidation.

Arthur withdraws her gun, clicking the safety in place and tucking it underneath her pillow of choice. Unclipping her hairpins she also sheds her creamy blouse, folds the shirt alongside her black slacks in her suitcase. Although she’d kicked off her pumps the moment they were inside the suite, her feet still ache from the drive to Madrid.  Sleep sounds infinitely appealing.

Dom remains at the foot of their bed, lost to contemplation for the time being. Arthur doesn’t kick up a fuss, just settles underneath the covers, reveling in the crisp brush of expensive cotton fabric on her skin. The bedside lamp stays on even as she drifts off into a weary rest.

Hours later, she wakes to find Dom curled around her legs; face pressed into Arthur’s stomach and one arm flung over her hip. A glance at a tableside clock reveals its 2:30 in the morning. Arthur sighs, more fond than exasperated. She knows where this will lead to and can’t ignore her arousal already beginning to stir at the thought. So she puts a hand on Dom’s head, combing through her short blonde hair and caressing her scalp. Dom awakes in slow increments, nuzzling into her abdomen, never removing the arm now clutching Arthur intently.

This isn’t the first time they’ve taken shelter in one another. It likely won’t be the last. Sex manages to balance out the tensions in each of them for a time. Dom needs an escape, Arthur a tactile distraction. Like so much else neither of them talk about it, they simply fall into each other when they need to then come away to face whatever the next day holds.

Arthur’s form is more slender than curved, a fact she’s never despaired much. She has a natural flexibility she’s honed for years, so it’s no challenge to bend her left knee and gradually free her leg out from underneath Dom’s arm. Shifting from her side to lie on her back, Arthur splays her legs wide. Any amount of extra room is welcome for what’s ahead.

Dom’s eyes rove from her pale limbs up to her face, hesitant.

“Well,” Arthur says, knowing precisely how low to pitch her naturally alto timbre to propel Dom past careful appreciation towards direct action. “Go on.”

Dom doesn’t take well to many things. Being bossed around is one major issue. Except in this. It hasn’t escaped Arthur’s notice how quickly Dom will roll over so she can straddle her face or the low moan of appreciation she’ll let out when Arthur tugs her locks and tells her to lick deeper, faster.  And it’s _hot_ to have that singular devotion and energy zeroed in on her pleasure. It makes Arthur greedy in a way she can’t afford to be with Dom outside of sex.

Kissing Arthur’s stomach, Dom lies between Arthur’s legs. Her hands leave goosebumps rising where they travel over Arthur’s breast and ribs, stroking down her hip. Arthur sighs, still petting through Dom’s hair as her tongue dips into her navel. She’s getting wet by the time Dom switches from nibbling on her belly to pressing soft kisses downward, mouthing at her cunt through the white lace of her underwear.

Arthur shudders, hips jerking up at the feel of teeth dragging over fabric and sensitive skin. She spreads her legs instinctively, giving Dom more room to tease her, and moves a hand up to circle over her nipples, still covered in a matching ivory bra. She only has to run the pad of one finger around her areolas once for her nipples to begin hardening. The fabric of her brassiere scratches over the nubs in a wonderfully arousing way.  Arthur pinches one, then the other, rolling them between her forefinger and thumb, gasping with the sensation.

“Dom, _oh_ ,” she moans, voice breathy as Dom sucks on her labia, uses a thumb to rub the soaked panties against her folds. She’ll never be able to wear this lingerie again and just the thought of that makes her clit throb. Dom’s lips are parted when she pulls away, still stroking Arthur, her gaze rapt and locked to the sight of Arthur getting so wet and quivering from her teasing. With her other hand she scratches through Arthur’s patch of curled pubic hair. Arthur prefers that area smaller than it currently is but being on the run has inevitably led to certain regimes scaling back. In any case Dom seems to like spending time there just as much as usual. Her fingers are slow and indulgent as they pet Arthur.

Arthur bites her lip, impatience flaring. “Come on Dom.” She sits up, reaching behind herself to unfasten and remove her bra, making Dom’s eyes flicker up to the bare swell of her breasts. Arthur’s not largely endowed there, a supple B-cup just able to overfill Dom’s hands, but she’s got enough that she doesn’t have to writhe hard for her tits to start bouncing. “More.”

Smiling, Dom pulls the underwear aside and breathes a couple short hot puffs of air on the hood above her clit, kisses Arthur with her mouth open and moist there. Arthur’s lips part, her insides clenching. She hooks one leg over Dom’s good shoulder, tries to pull her in further even though Dom’s face couldn’t get any closer to her. Arthur doesn’t miss the fondness in Dom’s eyes when she looks at her again as she presses her mouth over Arthur’s clit, sucking hard and slowly rolling the tip of her tongue around that little glans. She switches from using her thumb to run two fingers over Arthur’s folds, pushing the sensitive flesh together and rubbing them against one another. Dom’s knuckles smooth over her labia at the same time and Arthur feels her toes curl, feels her sex pulse.

“Ahh,” Arthur says, back arching. “Yes, please. Please...”

She starts to pant, rolling her hips to fuck herself on Dom’s mouth. Dom, who’s trailing sloppy kisses down her skin, licks so close but not close enough to where she needs her immediately. Arthur whimpers, grabbing a fistful of blonde hair and giving it an encouraging tug. “Inside,” she demands, pleads. “Inside me _please._ ” And Dom moans, parts her sex with both hands and gives one long lick from Arthur’s perineum to her clit. A little rope of slick clings to her tongue as she draws away, Arthur only having a moment to savor the image before Dom is diving in, licking past her folds and stroking into her cunt.

Arthur’s head falls back, her mouth opening in a small “o”. Her breasts heave with each thrust and she’s breathing in so deep she's lightheaded. Fuck but it feels good, the texture of Dom’s tongue spread all over inside of her, as far as she can reach, her thumb massaging Arthur’s clit.  She’s close already, the tingle of an oncoming orgasm making her back arch, her thigh’s close around Dom’s head to keep her where she needs her. Arthur tries to be conscious of the injury to Dom’s shoulder in this position, tries not to buck and shift her legs too much. Not that Dom is making it any easier for her. She fucks her tongue into Arthur’s cunt faster, humming around her, then brings more of those beautifully dexterous fingers into the play. Arthur clenches her hold on Dom’s hair when two slim digits thrust inside her, flushing at the squelching noise they push out.

“Dom, oh fuck,” She moans, cupping one of her breasts and twisting its nipple. “Keep going.”

Dom moves one hand up under her leg, pulling Arthur even closer. Like she wants to bury her face in Arthur’s dripping sex and that makes Arthur’s skin feel too hot, the panties she’s still clad in clinging too tight to her. There are thick, wet noises coming from Dom’s mouth as she licks her out, the kind you only hear when you’re breathing against something soaked. Arthur feels dizzy with her pleasure and she grinds on Dom’s tongue and hand, whimpering, sweat slick and shaking all over. She mouths at her own hand, sucking on two fingers. She’s going to come, she can feel it.

“Fuck!” Arthur shouts, clenching down hard on Dom’s fingers when she drags her front teeth down Arthur’s hood and over her swollen clit. It’s exactly the overwhelming burst of pleasure edged with pain she needs to tip over into orgasm. Arthur gasps with it, groaning as Dom tongues her clit and fingers her through the climax. She’s coming down from her high, riding the little aftershocks that make her cunt convulse unpredictably, when Dom sits up stiffly. 

Guilt surges in Arthur immediately at the pained wince Dom gives as she settles over her. Dom’s mouth silences the apology she’s about to voice, kissing Arthur deeply, sucking on her tongue. Arthur’s breath hitches as she pulls up Dom’s tank, baring pert little breasts she can never get enough of. She grabs one, kneading the soft flesh, thumbing at Dom’s pebbled nipple. Dom groans out “ _Arthur_ ” into her neck, suckles her there, sure to leave a small patch of bruises. Then she pulls the lower lobe of Arthur’s left ear between her lips and Arthur bucks, unable to quiet her whimpers. She writhes as Dom plays with one of her most sensitive erogenous zones, rubbing her cunt along the solid weight of Dom’s leg between her thighs.

Dom’s hands are all over her, stroking down Arthur’s stomach and hips, brushing caresses over her breasts and neck. It makes Arthur shiver, her vision hazy. She reaches for Dom’s ass, tugging at her briefs, presses her fingers over the wet patch formed though cotton fabric, delighting in further evidence of just how much Dom craves her taste and touch. Her breathing deepens further. Arthur rubs at Dom’s cunt, whimpers when the contact makes her even wetter. Wonderful as she feels, their position will do more harm than good. A husky “Wait” is all Arthur can manage with Dom still nibbling on her ear. 

Dom is rocking back against her hand and Arthur takes the moment to brush stray strands of hair from Dom’s face. Let her fingers trail over lips, plush and red from their kissing.

She is gentle but insistent when she tells her. “You need to lie down. Let’s not put too much strain your shoulder okay?” Arthur pecks a brief kiss to Dom’s chin. “I’ll take care of you.”

Something startling flashes in Dom’s expression, in her eyes, gone as soon as Arthur registers it. Something that makes her stomach curl and an emotion dangerously close to longing flare up. She bites her lip, wiggling out from underneath Dom, guiding her with a firm hand on her shoulder.

When Dom settles onto her back, head propped on a pillow, a hot rush of selfishness rises that Arthur tampers down. She wants to put her cunt on Dom’s face. Feel that pink tongue circle around her folds, teasing Arthur open, Dom’s rough lips turning softer and so slippery from Arthur’s slick. But she’s not going to risk causing Dom any further pain by having her weight balanced so close to her injured shoulder.

She settles between the spread of Dom’s spry legs, finally able to yank off her dark briefs. Arthur’s impatient, hungry for the taste of Dom’s thick cunt, eager to get her face shining with the slick that soaked Dom’s underwear. Tossing the garment aside, she splays her hands down Dom’s legs to her inner thighs. Feeling the firm, athletic strength contained in those limbs. Arthur’s lips part at the generous amount of blonde curls on her sex, moaning as she runs a hand up and down Dom’s pubic hair. She’s so wet already the hair clings against Arthur’s fingers, feels delicious on her skin. Any notion of teasing foreplay is thoroughly cast aside.

Arthur nips at Dom’s cunt, not hard, putting just enough pressure where her hair dips around her labia to make her jolt. She glances up at Dom, letting her desire show, and holds that eye contact as she kisses over her clit. Moving lower Arthur swirls her tongue around pink folds, sucks them between her lips. After a moment feeling Dom writhe and hearing her curse Arthur lets them go. But not for long. She doesn’t even need to spread Dom apart, arousal having caused her to swell enough it’s easy to take that glossy flesh back into her mouth. Dom sweeps Arthur’s hair out of her face, curls a hand on the back of her neck.

Arthur smiles, ducks her head to lap at Dom, tongue pushing into her opening. She keeps an unhurried pace, lost in the motion of Dom’s body rocking against her mouth.  The bridge of her nose rubs along Dom’s flushed clit as she licks her. Arthur pauses to swipe at her lips, relishing in the sharp flavor clinging to them. She pushes three fingers deep into Dom then pulls them out, slipping them into her own sex. Arthur fucks herself, gasping, grinds the palm of her free hand against Dom’s cunt.

 “So good, Dom,” she whispers. It’s clear Dom’s getting close, her mouth falls open and fingernails dig into the back of Arthur’s neck.

Arthur sits up, tucks her hands under Dom’s knees and manhandles her so her legs are bent up off the bed, thighs still spread apart. She leans over her, angling her upper body more towards Dom’s right. Dom arches up, gets her mouth on one of Arthur’s swaying breasts, laughing when her tongue flicking around Arthur’s nipple draws a gasp. For an instant Arthur feels frustrated, knowing moments like these will be reduced to an untouchable _we don’t talk about it_ aspect of their relationship. Intimacy little more than an exercise in tension relief.

She shoves those thoughts aside, refocusing on the here and now. With the front of her legs pressed flush along the inside of Dom’s thighs, Arthur rocks down, rubbing their cunts against one another. Cursing, Dom grasps a handful of Arthur’s wavy hair. She’s not at all tender when she pulls it, which Arthur loves. She hisses and bares her throat, gropes Dom’s tits, rolling both nipples between her fingers. Her hips move in a steady cadence, which is no small feat. Each slow grind of her slick sex over Dom’s leaves Arthur’s toes curling. Her breath comes out in short huffs.

Dom slips a finger into Arthur’s open mouth. She sucks enthusiastically, as wet and messy as she can, reluctant to let go when Dom withdraws. Arthur’s not expecting for Dom to palm her ass, sliding that slick finger down Arthur’s crack to circle her rim. The first press inside burns, but not enough to put Arthur off the penetration. Instead she groans and takes it, shoulders shaking. She rocks against Dom faster, bites at her ear and down her jawline.

“God, Arthur,” Dom breathes, tugging Arthur’s hair. Soon she pushes another finger into Arthur’s hole, fucking the pair in deep. Arthur whines softly, her rhythm faltering for a moment, clenches around the digits. Having her ass played with never fails to make her tremble and drip. And _fuck_ , Dom’s thrusting those gorgeous fingers in hard enough have her backside shaking. She’s panting harder, the warm friction of their cunts moving together pushing her closer to the edge.

 _“Oh_ ,” Arthur moans, her clit sliding along Dom’s folds. “Oh, oh fuck.”

She rolls her hips in earnest, grinding down on Dom. Wet strands of hair tickle Arthur’s clit and labia, make her shoulders and thighs quiver. She’s filthy between her legs, pumping out thick streams of slick that smear all over Dom’s sex while they writhe together. Her nipples are drawn tight, tender where they bump along Dom’s chest and breasts. _So good_ , it’s so good she can’t stop making high desperate noises, flushing from her neck up to her ears. All the while Dom keeps fingering her ass, whispering heated words of encouragement into Arthur’s ear, voice raspy with arousal. “That’s it baby. Come on Arthur, come for me.”

Arthur loses it when their clits touch, a cry spilling from her lips. Even then Dom’s fingers pump as far as they’re able, stretching Arthur’s rim. She sobs, eyes shut tight, pivots her hips to keep the friction going and ride Dom’s hand. Her orgasm is a strong thrum of pleasure, her cunt throbs in constant pulses. Arthur fists the sheets with one hand, the other cupping one of Dom’s tits and squeezing hard. She tucks her face into Dom’s neck. It all feels too hot, too wet and too good. Dom’s lets out a sharp hitch of breath then Arthur can feel her coming too with a moan, shaking apart beneath her.

They’re breathing heavily and arching against one another well after their orgasms pass. Eventually the press of Dom’s skin on hers feels too sweaty for Arthur’s comfort. She eases off Dom and makes for the bathroom, washing herself with a wet cloth then bringing a washcloth and towel with her back to bed once she’s dried. Her hands are lazy on Dom’s form, swiping the cloth over her cunt and thighs, dabbing the towel on her more than she needs to. An indulgence Dom allows with a sleepy murmur of appreciation.

Once she’s piled the fabrics into a basket by the bathroom Arthur wiggles back into their bed. She lies on her side, smiling when Dom scoots in close behind her and tucks an arm around her waist. While she’s aware that the contact is temporary, it doesn’t stop Arthur from smiling, or from putting her hand over Dom’s and lacing their fingers together.

Like the untouched scotch in her suitcase, Arthur knows none of this has solved either of their problems. Tomorrow they’ll wake, get dressed and any conversation they have will be about their next extraction, their getaway plans, where they run from here.

For now though, the tension between herself and Dom, the stresses of living life constantly on foot, are placed on the backburner. It’s the best solution they can offer one another.


End file.
